


Of course, it's that day.

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fifty-one years young, Gen, Safe Harbour., happy birthday baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 04:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: She awakes to the heat of pre-dawn sun on her rims and tyres





	Of course, it's that day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta, jj1564, and to Baby, for her years of service, for her reliability, and for her beauty. Happy Birthday, girl. Fifty one and fucking fabulous!

She awakes to the heat of pre-dawn sun on her rims and tyres, the sounds of the birds warbling and trilling above her hood, and the realisation that she’s not enclosed in some fousty musty garage, surrounded by barely used machines all begging to be let loose on the blacktop.

It sounds fucking ridiculous, maybe no more fucking ridiculous than the thought of a sentient car, but she can always sense the dust motes settling on her paintwork, clogging her intakes and making her feel like she’s suffocating, like she’s been buried alive amongst the lifeless and forlorn.

The sun is high in the sky, she can feel it warming her chrome, spreading it’s crackling heat across her bodywork, and Baby wonders why Dean braved leaving her in the open air, until he emerges from the Bunker’s front door with a smile on his face, a spring in his bow-legged step, and a whistle on his perfectly pouty lips.

“Morning, beautiful. Happy Birthday.”

Of course. It’s _that_ day. **The** day.

 ** _Her_** day.

Fifty one years ago she rolled off the assembly to no fanfare, no banners, no waiting adoring crowd, and she wondered if she’d be left to rot on some car lot filled with equally as gorgeous engines all raring to be revelled in.

Okay, so she had to deal with the Preacher Man’s unique scent and interesting taste in women for a good few years, but once he decided divorce and diesel fuel were far too expensive when coupled with running a machine like her, she was finally adopted into a family of people who would always appreciate her.

John found a place to be free from bullets and barricades and bloody battles hard fought and even harder lost.

Mary found a moment in time with her love that didn’t require guns and knives and permanent scarring.

Dean found hope in her when his father handed him the keys and said, “Don’t screw it up, boy.”, and no matter how fast it all went to shit, he never lost that hope when he sat behind her wheel.

And Sam...Sam found comfort and company when he and Dean lay side by side each night for that first excruciating month fighting back the darkness, alone. “Night Jerk.” “Night Bitch!”

What she found is that she quite liked being beaten up and broken, because Dean would always make do and mend. She found she appreciated the sound of bickering brothers huddled together at first on her back seat, then on her front. She also found that no matter how long the journey, or how dark the night, there was always a sunrise, always a moment of calm before _and_ after the storm.

In her fifty one years she’s been many things to many people, but on this day, where Dean is staring up at the sun like it’s the first he’s ever seen, she finds herself not only grateful for the chance to give safe harbour to those that have more than earned it, but completely satisfied.

If she was smashed to smithereens tomorrow, if a truck rolled straight over the top of her, she might cease to be, but she’d _be_ safe in the knowledge that she matters, to those who ride in her and to those who see her on the horizon and know they aren’t alone.

Dean throws himself in the driver's seat and takes a moment to caress the soft scarred leather of her steering wheel, and Baby waits, with wound tight carbs and sparking plugs, for Dean to open her up and blow past the early morning mist and fog, out into a world of possibilities.

As Dean slams his foot to the floor and wheel spins away from the front of the Bunker, Sam steps into the early morning sun and tips his head towards his departing brother, and first true love.

“Happy Birthday, Baby.”


End file.
